Authors: Lee Hollis

Death of a Cupcake Queen (2 page)

BOOK: Death of a Cupcake Queen

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Chapter 2

After leaving Sabrina and Mason, Hayley drove home, hoping that Dr. Aaron Palmer was waiting for her at her house with some lit candles, a bottle of wine, and some bubble bath for later. Their busy schedules had kept them apart for six weeks. It seemed as if every time they planned a romantic dinner, some golden retriever suffered a heat stroke or a Maltese experienced respiratory distress, and Aaron would dutifully have to race back to his pet clinic.

And it wasn't just Aaron.

Hayley was busy at work, too, especially now that the summer tourist season was getting underway after a particularly brutal cold winter and rainy spring.

But finally, after two weeks of planning, both of them had managed to carve out tonight to spend some time together.

Just the two of them.

Dustin was staying at his friend Spanky's house.

Gemma had softball practice and was going out for pizza afterward with the team.

There was no one to interrupt their carefully planned intimate evening.

So Hayley felt no guilt when she wrapped up her cocktail hour with Sabrina and her new boy toy Mason after only forty-five minutes and slapped down enough bills to cover her Jack and Coke, promising to help Sabrina finalize the plans for their reunion in any way she could as she dashed out the door.

Sabrina thanked her and told her she would be in touch.

When Hayley pulled into the driveway of her house, she saw Aaron's Honda Odyssey parked out on the street.

She had a tingling sensation as she shifted the Kia's gear into park and shut off the ignition.

Hayley was flushed with excitement.

Or at least she hoped she was flushed with excitement.

Otherwise she might be experiencing some kind of medical emergency.

Anticipating this night with Aaron was what had been getting her through the whole month.

And now, it was finally here.

When Hayley entered the kitchen through the back door, she noticed all the lights in the house were dim.

There was an open bottle of wine and two glasses on the counter.

Check.

From the living room she saw an orange light flickering in the shadows.

Candles.

Check.

And as she rounded the corner into the living room, she saw a bottle of Lollia Relax Bubble Bath wrapped with a lavender ribbon.

One of Oprah's favorite things.

And so, of course, one of Hayley's too.

So far Aaron was batting a thousand.

“Aaron?” Hayley asked, poking her head around to see if he was waiting for her on the couch, but he wasn't there.

“Aaron?”

From upstairs she heard feet shuffling and then Aaron's distinct baritone voice. “You home already?”

He pounded down the stairs in a white terrycloth robe and carrying an empty basket but for a few stray rose petals stuck to the bottom.

Hayley looked him up and down. “What are you doing?”

“I was covering your bed with rose petals. You didn't give me a chance to finish so I just dumped the whole basket on top of the bed. It's not the aesthetic I was going for.”

Hayley walked over to him and kissed him softly on the lips. “No, it's perfect.”

“Really? So the odds are good I'm going to get lucky tonight? Because I'm really hoping I get lucky tonight. It's been a while.”

“Trust me. I've thought of every conceivable interruption and I have headed it off at the pass. No one is going to bother us tonight.”

“Good,” Aaron said, grabbing her by her butt cheeks and pulling her into him. “Because I say we skip the wine, blow out the candles and start with the bath.”

“When did you become such a mind reader?” Hayley said, smiling, as she ran her fingers over Aaron's bare chest underneath the white robe.

They kissed again.

Suddenly without warning Aaron bent down and scooped Hayley up in his arms.

“Aaron, what are you doing?”

“This is my best attempt at being chivalrous. I'm going to carry you upstairs.”

“Are you crazy? You'll hurt yourself.”

Hayley was remembering what Sabrina had said about her second husband Jerry's back going out during an ill-fated attempt at sex. She didn't want the same fate befalling Aaron.

“Seriously. Put me down. I can walk.”

“I know you can walk. But I want to carry you.”

They had reached the foot of the staircase. Hayley noticed perspiration forming on Aaron's forehead, but he was trying his best to hide the gargantuan effort it was taking to lug Hayley up the stairs with a forced smile.

Up the stairs they went.

One foot after another.

On the third step, Aaron had to toss Hayley a few inches into the air with all his might to adjust his grip on her. When she came back down, the strain of her weight was almost too much, but he kept that big smile plastered on his face. He was not going to admit feeling any pain.

Why did she have to pack on seven pounds during the winter? She usually lost most of it in the spring so she would be at a good weight for the summer, but this year the April showers were more like an April biblical flood so she hadn't exercised nearly enough. She spent most of the season sitting at home watching Lifetime movies and baking cakes and pies.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity, Aaron's foot settled on the top of the landing.

They were almost home free.

Just a mere seven feet from the bathroom where the hot water was already running. Hayley could make out the steam rising from the tub and fogging the mirror.

They were going to make it.

And she promised herself she would make it worth his while.

But then she heard the back door slam open and a familiar voice scream, “Mom!”

No.

Please, God, no.

Gemma wasn't supposed to be home until nine o'clock.

It wasn't even seven.

There was thumping up the stairs.

Aaron just stood there with Hayley in his arms, not having a clue what to do.

Gemma, wearing a green and gold softball shirt, matching cap, and khaki shorts suddenly appeared, a euphoric look on her face. “You will never believe what just happened! We finished softball practice and were going out for pizza when all of a sudden I saw Nate Forte hanging around the ball field waiting to talk to me. And guess what? He asked me to prom! Can you believe it? I have been crushing on this guy all year, and I didn't even think he knew I existed, and then all of a sudden out of the blue he asks me to be his date for the prom!”

“That's wonderful, Gemma, but why aren't you out having pizza with the rest of the team
like you said you were going to
?”

“Pizza? Are you kidding me? I have to lose ten pounds!”

Like mother like daughter.

Aaron was now sweating profusely, the beads landing on his white terrycloth robe as he struggled to keep Hayley in his arms.

“Mom, did you sprain your foot or something?” Gemma asked, as if noticing the scene she had just interrupted for the first time.

“No, I . . . I mean, Aaron and I were just . . . it's . . . we . . .” Haley stammered.

“And why is it so dark? Did you forget to pay the electric bill again?”

“We were just . . .” Aaron tried interjecting helpfully, but then didn't know where to go from there.

A lightbulb went off in Gemma's head.

“Oh, wow. I get it. Don't mind me. I'll be in my room. Just pretend I'm not here.” Gemma scooted into her bedroom and slammed her door.

Aaron's knees suddenly buckled and he and Hayley fell to the floor with a thud.

“Damn, Hayley, I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.”

“You think there is any way we can salvage this evening?”

“Yes. In about an hour or so.”

“Why an hour?”

“That's probably going to be how long it takes to mop up the bathroom?”

“What? Why?”

Water was gushing over the side of the tub as it overflowed.

Aaron jumped to his feet and ran in to turn off the water but slipped on the floor and landed hard on his butt.

You know what they say about the best laid plans.

Chapter 3

“You can't boycott the reunion!” Hayley wailed before stuffing a forkful of her favorite Jalapeno Macaroni and Cheese into her mouth at the Side Street Cafe. She was cramming in a quick lunch with best friends, Mona Barnes and Liddy Crawford, and Mona had just unceremoniously announced she would not be participating in their upcoming high school class reunion.

“Give me one good reason why not,” Mona growled before chugging the rest of her Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale.

“Because it will give you a chance to catch up with people you haven't seen in twenty years,” Hayley said.

“I see you two every week. That's enough. And I run into half our class all the friggin' time at the grocery store and at the high school basketball games. As for the rest of the uppity snobs who went to fancy colleges and got high-paying jobs and just want to come back to the island and flaunt their success in front of us, well, to hell with them!”

“You really shouldn't force her to go if she doesn't want to, Hayley,” Liddy said quietly while stirring her cup of Jasmine tea with a silver spoon.

“But she
has
to go! I can name a dozen classmates coming from all over who will be disappointed if Mona's a no show.”

“And I can name twice as many more who would rather not have a repeat of our ten-year reunion,” Liddy added, squeezing a lemon into her cup before delicately taking a sip.

“That
wasn't
Mona's fault,” Hayley said hastily.

“Of course it wasn't my fault,” Mona bellowed. “That punk ass DJ you hired from Bangor refused to play
any
music from the year we graduated! I thought that was the whole point! Was it really going to kill him to play one, just
one
Hootie and the Blowfish song?”

“You didn't have to punch him in the face!”

“I've told you a hundred times, Liddy! That was
not
my fault.”

“How can you blame the DJ? He just asked you politely to back away slowly from his turntable and then you went on the attack like some feral Pit Bull that hadn't been fed in a week!”

“I don't blame the DJ. I blame
you
!”

“Me? How is your lightning quick temper
my
fault?”

“Because you were the one who insisted on splurging for an open bar, and you know how I get when I am overserved!”

“Ladies, please. Can we dial it back a bit, please? You're scaring the wait staff,” Hayley begged, nodding to the bar.

A few of the servers were bunched up together, their eyes glued to the loud scene. When Mona spun her head around like Linda Blair in that
Exorcist
movie and glared at them, smoke practically steaming out of her ears, they banged into each other, pretending to be hard at work and not watching.

“Well, I'll vote to have a cash bar this year so we don't have a repeat of our tenth reunion,” Hayley offered diplomatically, while poking at the last bit of macaroni in her bowl.

“I'm still not going,” Mona barked.

“Why not?” Hayley asked, sighing.

“If I never lay eyes on those three mean girl bitches who made our lives a living hell in high school then I'll count myself lucky!”

“You mean Sabrina, Nykki, and Ivy? They're not so bad, Mona,” Liddy said, slurping down the rest of her tea.

“Not so bad? Are you kidding me? They wrote the word
dyke
on my locker in lipstick just because I had short hair and was fond of wearing bulky sweatshirts with dirty jokes written on the front.”

“You
still
have short hair and wear bulky sweatshirts with dirty jokes written on the front,” Liddy said, smiling.

“Those girls were vicious. They didn't care that I had a picture of Brad Pitt barechested wearing a cowboy hat from
Thelma and Louise
taped to my locker! They just didn't like the way I dressed or acted so they made me a target! Don't get me wrong! I love lesbians. Some nights I hear my husband farting and I see my kids starting a mash potato fight and I think to myself, why on earth didn't God make me a lesbian? I'd be so much happier!”

“I think we're getting a little off track,” Hayley said, scraping the bottom of her bowl for any excess clumps of cheese before setting her fork down. “I'm certainly not making excuses for them. They were horrible to me too. But that was twenty years ago. I've at least gotten to know Sabrina better through my dealings with her as county coroner and she's mellowed. I'm sure Nykki and Ivy have too. People change.”

“I haven't changed,” Mona said huffily.

“You can say that again,” Liddy whispered under her breath.

“Liddy, you're not helping!” Hayley barked.

“I'm just saying, I'm exactly the same as I was in high school so I don't expect those high and mighty harpies to have changed either!”

“Hayley, she's not going. Accept it,” Liddy said.

“Now you've got me all worked up. I need another blueberry ale before I go back out on my boat to haul traps!” Mona grumbled while waving a finger at the skittish waitresses, who cowered at the sound of her voice.

Chapter 4

Hayley scurried back to the office after hugging Liddy and Mona goodbye in the parking lot behind the Side Street Cafe. She tip-toed through the door to the
Island Times
front office and noiselessly slipped behind her desk hoping nobody would notice she had taken an extra fifteen minutes for lunch. Mostly due to Mona's ranting about the upcoming reunion.

As she set her bag on the floor next to her chair, she heard someone clear his throat and it startled her. She looked up to see a gangly, awkward kid with a pronounced nose and big brown puppy dog eyes, around seventeen years old, slumped in a chair across from her and holding a large brown paper bag.

“Hi, Mrs. Powell,” the boy said, his voice cracking.

“I'm sorry, and you are . . . ?” Hayley said, sizing the kid up, trying to place him, but having no luck.

“Oliver Whitfield,” he said, offering a stiff smile. “I'm in your daughter Gemma's class.”

“Why aren't you in school, Oliver?”

“Oh, the principal lets me off at one on Tuesdays and Thursdays to help out at my parents' new sandwich shop. It's like a work-study program. I'm learning the business and even help out with the books. But my Dad's sick today so I'm handling deliveries.”

Hayley remembered seeing an ad for a new sandwich shop in town called Well Bread. She had heard a new family called the Whitfields had recently moved to Bar Harbor from Ohio, but she hadn't met them yet.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Oliver. Did somebody here at the office order some sandwiches?”

Oliver nodded.

“Does anybody back there know you're here?”

Oliver shook his head.

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“About fifteen minutes. Nobody was here and I didn't want to bother anybody so I thought I'd just wait.”

“I see. Well, there's no point in mentioning that to anyone, especially my boss, so let's pretend you just walked through the door. It's not like the sandwiches had time to get soggy, right?”

Oliver nodded again.

“Who placed the order? I'll have them come out and pay you.”

“Mr. Linney.”

Bruce Linney.

The
Island Times
crime reporter.

And a big pain in the you know what.

“Mrs. Powell, I'm glad I ran into you because I wanted to askâ”

Before the kid could finish his sentence, Hayley's corpulent boss, Editor-in-Chief Sal Moretti, stormed out from the back bullpen and roared at the top of his lungs, “What the hell took you so long, kid? My stomach's growling so loud I can't hear myself think!”

“Sorry, sir,” Oliver said meekly.

Sal yanked the brown paper bag out of the kid's bony little fingers and stuffed his hammy fist in it, pulling out a giant-size sandwich wrapped in white paper. “This my roast beef with cheddar cheese and horse radish?”

Oliver nodded.

“Great. Bruce is in his office on the phone. He'll be right out to take care of the bill.”

“Sal, didn't you already have lunch? I saw you leave around 11:30 with some of your fishing buddies to go have fried clams at the Thirsty Whale.”

The moment the words came tumbling out she regretted saying them.

“Yeah, okay, I had an early lunch. Before noon. It's after two now. Can't a guy have a midday snack? What are you all of a sudden, the food police? I'm hungry! Sue me!”

“You're absolutely right. You work hard. You deserve a little afternoon treat,” Hayley said, backpedaling.

Sal had already unwrapped the sandwich and taken a giant bite. A few strands of stray roast beef hung out of the side of his mouth, bouncing up and down in front of his bottom lip as he chewed.

Both Hayley and Oliver pretended not to notice.

“So Mrs. Powell, while I'm here there's something I'd like toâ”

“Well, well, well, look who's finally back from lunch,” Bruce Linney sneered as he sailed into the front office and snatched the brown paper bag off Hayley's desk where Sal had set it down to free both of his pudgy hands so he could devour the stack of roast beef and cheese between the two pieces of homemade rye bread.

“You got my turkey avocado, kid?”

“Yes, sir. With extra mayo.”

“Right,” Bruce said, slightly embarrassed. “Don't worry. I ran two miles this morning before work.”

But nobody in the office really cared about how much mayo Bruce was consuming even though his ego would forcefully disagree.

Bruce plucked a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to Oliver. “That should cover it and leave you a little extra for a tip.”

“Actually, sir, it's twenty-one dollars and sixty-two cents.”

“That's awfully pricey for a couple of sandwiches, if you ask me,” Bruce said with a raised eyebrow.

“That includes your sandwich from yesterday which you didn't pay for yet. You said to start a tab. But my Dad really wants me to collect today.”

“Oh. Okay. Hayley, can you cover it with petty cash? I promise to replace it tomorrow. It's just that I've been working through lunch lately and staying late because I've been so busy I haven't had a moment to go to the ATM or take care of any of life's little errands.”

“Was that for my benefit, Bruce? You know how much I hate a kiss ass!” Sal yelled, his mouth full, chewed up pieces of bread and meat flying across the office like Japanese Kamikazes.

Bruce was speechless as Sal wandered back to his office. After quickly unfolding the white wrapping paper to insure the sandwich shop had prepared his turkey avocado to his exact specifications, Bruce followed, leaving Hayley alone with Oliver.

Hayley had already counted out some dollar bills to cover the rest of the bill as well as a generous tip for the delivery boy.

Oliver smiled as he pocketed the money and then pulled out a small plastic bag filled with gourmet potato chips and handed it to Hayley.

“What's this?”

“I brought them special just for you.”

“Me? Why that's so thoughtful, Oliver. Thank you.”

“I knew you would be working today.”

“Well, I will be sure to try them later. I just came back from lunch and I'm quite full at the moment.”

“They're homemade. My mother makes a bunch of different flavors. This one is Gorgonzola Red Onion.”

That was all Hayley needed to hear.

She ripped open the bag and tried one.

“Oh my God, these are so decadently delicious.”

She tried another.

And another.

What was that saying about not being able to stop after just one?

“So I was wondering if you could tell me . . .” Oliver said, his voice trailing off as if he was debating whether or not to ask.

“What is it, Oliver?”

“Do you know if . . . um . . . well I was hoping you might . . .”

“Sometimes it's best just to spit it out.”

“Does Gemma have a date for senior prom?”

This was not what Hayley was expecting.

“Actually, just last night Gemma told me she had been asked by a boy named Nate Forte,” Hayley said, feeling sorry for the kid who suddenly looked crestfallen.

“I see. Well, I'm not surprised. She's a very popular girl and . . .”

His voice trailed off again.

“But I'm sure she will be flattered you asked,” Hayley said, knowing full well this would not make the poor boy feel any better.

“Yeah, I better go,” Oliver said softly before beating a hasty retreat.

“Thank you for the chips,” Hayley managed to get out before the door slammed behind him.

Sal stomped out of his office. “Hayley, check the bag to see if my side of chips is in there.”

Sal stopped suddenly at the sight of Hayley's hand inside the now half eaten plastic bag of homemade potato chips Oliver had so kindly presented to her. She instantly dropped the chips on her desk and rummaged through the brown paper bag but there were no other bags of chips.

“The boy told me he brought them special for me. I didn't know you had ordered a side of chips, Sal, I swear!”

“Isn't it convenient the kid is long gone and not here to back up your flimsy story!” Sal said, folding his fat arms and glaring at her.

Hayley picked up the bag and tried to hand what was left of the chips to Sal. “You can have the rest of them if you want.”

“After your wet fingers have been all over them? You know I won't even share a tub of popcorn with my own wife at the movies! I hate people's fingers being on my food!”

“I'm sorry. Listen, I should probably wait until you've cooled down a bit before I ask about some time off . . .”

“Really? You want to ask for time off
now
? After you've inhaled most of
my
potato chips? Is that what you really want to do?”

“It's just that my high school reunion is coming up, and I promised to help plan the whole thing, not to mention Gemma's prom and I have to take her dress shopping . . .”

“You're talking to me like I care about any of this. You know June is our busy season. Tourists are pouring in from all over and we have to cover a lot of stories and I'm understaffed as it is . . .”

“I do have a few personal days and a couple of vacation days left that I could cobble together. I'd be out for a week tops . . .”

“I see your lips moving but I'm not hearing what you're saying.”

“Sal, please. What if I ran to the sandwich shop right now and brought you back three bags of potato chips, each one a different flavor?”

“I'm listening.”

“And paid for it out of my own money! Not petty cash.”

“I'm still listening.”

“And I hear they also sell these amazing peanut butter cookies.”

“One week, Hayley. But you get no break from your column. You don't have to come into the office, but you still have to make your deadlines! If one column is late, it's right back in the office. No excuses.”

“It's a deal.”

“Now go get me my chips,” Sal said, wiping a small glob of horseradish off the corner of his mouth with his bare knuckle and licking it off.

Hayley was out the door in a flash.

Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell

With my daughter's senior prom looming right around the corner, the quest to find the perfect dress became the top priority in our household.

So when I arrived home one night last week exhausted from a long day at the office, all I wanted to do was make myself a cocktail, kick back, and relax. I had a taste for something cold and refreshing. A delicious creamy concoction called a Dreamsicle. So I had picked up the ingredients on the way home.

As I entered the house through the back door with my recyclable grocery bag, I stopped suddenly at the chaotic disaster that was my kitchen.

For a brief moment as I stood there in stunned silence surveying the mess, I thought I had stumbled into one of those crime scene investigation rooms that they set up after a murder occurs, just like the ones on
Criminal Minds,
of which I am a loyal viewer. I have a raging crush on that dashing Joe Mantegna, and of course the hunky Shemar Moore. Hell, I love all the men on that show. But I digress. Let's get back to the state of my kitchen. There were rows and rows of pictures tacked up on the wall like murder victims and suspects.

Upon closer inspection, I realized the pictures were of models wearing various party gowns and designer couture. On the floor were four teenage girls surrounded by piles of magazines and armed with scissors as they furiously cut out every photo of a dress they could find. In the hallway were stacks of ripped up and shredded magazines that they had already meticulously pored through.

The girls hadn't noticed me yet.

“What do you think you're doing?” I demanded to know.

In hindsight, I probably should have opened and shut the door again or even just cleared my throat to alert them to my presence, but I guess that's why they call it hindsight.

My booming voice startled the girls so much they erupted in screams and one was so frightened she threw her scissors. I had to duck to avoid losing my right eye.

That's when I noticed the giant pile of discarded magazines in the hallway just outside the kitchen begin to move and come to life. Apparently the screaming awoke my dog, Leroy, who was sleeping underneath the magazines. He shot out of the giant pile like his tail was on fire, totally confused and sliding all over the floor on the slippery papers while trying to find his footing.

My daughter berated me for scaring them as her traumatized friend sputtered apologies for nearly stabbing me in the face. I gave the girls five minutes to clean up my kitchen and then whipped up my yummy Dreamsicle cocktail, leaving them alone while I plopped down in my favorite chair with Leroy snuggling next to me, and then surfed the channels until I found a
Criminal Minds
rerun.

Studly Shemar was chasing down a suspect, which normally would keep me glued to the TV, but all the prom dress talk and visuals in my kitchen brought up a feeling of nostalgia, so I ran to a drawer in my den and hauled out my old photo album from senior year. I flipped through it until I found a picture of me in my prom dress. My curly brown hair piled high on my head. My too-fake tan from a can. A wide smile plastered on my face. You could tell I thought my dress was the fashion statement of the century. It was a strapless gown that was fitted to the waist. From the waist on down was layers upon layers of what seemed like floating chiffon that stopped just above my knees. The color of the dress was a bright over-the-top orange. Same color as my Dreamsicle cocktail! Of course! All this talk about prom and dresses must have subconsciously brought back the memory of my own dress and the color triggered my craving for a Dreamsicle cocktail!

Now that I had almost downed the entire cocktail, maybe it was time for something more substantial. Once the girls cleared out of the kitchen, maybe I had the ingredients to bake a Dreamy Orange Dreamsicle Cake!

Dreamsicle Cocktail

Ingredients:

2 ounces vanilla vodka
2 ounces cream
4 ounces orange juice
1 ounce triple sec

Fill your shaker with ice half way (chill beforehand if you have time) then add in all of your ingredients. Shake vigorously, then pour into a tall cocktail glass with ice, then sip and you will feel just like a kid again!

Dreamy Orange Dreamsicle Cake

Ingredients:

1 box orange cake mix
2 eggs
Â½ cup oil
1Â½ cups water
3 ounce box of orange Jell-O mix

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Then combine all of your ingredients in a bowl and with an electric mixer mix for 2 minutes until blended.

Pour into a greased and floured 13x9 baking dish.

Bake for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Cool your cake completely then frost with a whipped topping of your choice.

BOOK: Death of a Cupcake Queen

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